


Pushing Them in the Right Direction

by CompanionToMisterHolmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, John and Mary ship it more than I do sometimes!, Plotting, locked in cupboards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompanionToMisterHolmes/pseuds/CompanionToMisterHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>From a lovely anon prompt. Enjoy.<br/>Already doing the 'rounds' on Tumblr.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Pushing Them in the Right Direction

**Author's Note:**

> From a lovely anon prompt. Enjoy.  
> Already doing the 'rounds' on Tumblr.

"Okay, so you agree. Those two brilliant idiots are quite blind."

"Yes! I mean she was always quite obvious, but even he’s been giving as good as he gets. Those longing looks are not well hidden, and neither are the bullet holes in our wall."

"We need a plan. Push them in the right direction."

"I think I have just the thing."

* * *

8:15pm and it was just nearing on Molly’s lunch break, it may have been an odd hour to take lunch, but Molly’s shifts never seemed to follow a strict progression that allowed for usual lunchtimes. She’d had breakfast at 4pm and was planning on reheating last night’s dinner when her shift ended and she slumped back home for 12:00am.

The late shifts were never desirable, but that’s why Molly took them, no one else would, and it’s not like she had a family waiting for her or plans that couldn’t be budged. Just as she was pulling off her lab coat, thinking she might venture out to the greasy spoon round the corner rather than the canteen, the other reason she took odd hours at the morgue waltzed in.  _All 3 of them?_

Sherlock Holmes strode into the morgue looking particularly disgruntled, even though his stoic features were nothing unusual, Molly realised the two behind him, clasped hands and soppy smiles, might have had something to do with it. 

"You weren’t in the lab, I need you in the lab." Sherlock spoke in his usual demanding tone; one that Molly had finally grown to ignore, 6 years and an assisted fake suicide do wonders for a girl’s confidence. 

"Hello Sherlock. John, Mary." She smiled sweetly at the couple, but continued to ready herself for her particularly unhealthy lunch, something fried was in order.

"Sorry, but I’m just off out to lunch… well, you know, off to eat." Molly grabbed her bag and before heading to the door, pulled Mary into a heartfelt hug. "Don’t let me forget to call, we need to have a good long catch-up sometime soon. It’s been too long Miss Morstan." 

"Oh, I won’t Miss Hooper. I’m sure there’ll be lots to share." Mary smirked knowingly at John, but Molly let it pass, they’d probably reached a major milestone in their relationship and Mary was ready to gush and babble to her friend about it, nothing out of the ordinary there.

Just as Molly reached the door to leave Sherlock spoke up. “Molly, you cannot leave. I need your help to conduct a rather important experiment on the dispersal rates of various pollens, according to their molecular structure. And I cannot gain access to the appropriate equipment without your assistance.”

"Bit of a stilted way to say you need her mate." John patted Sherlock’s shoulder as an unfamiliar pink tone flushed Sherlock’s skin, something he quickly attempted to shake away. "I don’t suppose you could help him get the stuff out Molls, he’ll just be irritable until you get back off your break, or he’ll find a way to get the stuff and cause a great mess doing so. Me and Mary are off out to dinner, so I can’t babysit."

"Fine. Fine, I’ll get the equipment out, but only if you help, Sherlock. That stuff’s heavy. Then I’m going to have an atrociously greasy lunch, and you can’t stop me." She headed off to the lab’s equipment storage cupboard, Sherlock in tow but huffing that Molly would not help further with his investigation, grumbling something about the adverse affects of Molly’s favorite oily foods.  _Was it so bad that he just wanted to spend some time with her; she used to fall at his feet to do so._

* * *

John and Mary shared a look, and a stifled giggle, as the two unsuspecting victims entered the rather spacious equipment closet. The first either Sherlock or Molly realised of their new predicament was the soft thud of the door and the gleeful laughter from the other side, Sherlock tried the lock, but to no avail.

"It appears our so called friends have locked us in here, in some twisted version of a prank."

"Oh, for  _goodness sake_. All I wanted was a lunch break, is that too much to ask?!” Molly groaned.

A small slip of paper was pushed under the door, the handwriting John’s barely legible script. ‘See sense. Get the key.’

Molly knew immediately the sentiment behind the message, proceeding to hammer against the door in frustration she practically shouted. “Mary Morstan, if this has any-bloody-thing to do with what I think, let me out now! That is just cruel.”  

Molly heard Mary’s muffled response from the other side of the door. “Just talk to him.” 

"Same goes for you mate, talk to her." John echoed Mary’s sentiment, as they both walked away, off to dinner, hoping by the time they got back Molly and Sherlock would have realised what was staring straight at them.

* * *

"Who knew Mike thought so too?"

"Good thing he did though, or we wouldn’t have the keys. Our plan would have fallen at the first hurdle."

"Yes well, now it’s firmly in place. Let’s hope the result is favorable."

"Yeah, those two would make for a very interesting double date."

* * *

"Molly it appears that you understand our predicament where I do not." Sherlock spoke into the cramped space, it was a rather large cupboard, enough room for two people to work happily and comfortably collecting various items. But with Molly busying herself gathering all that was needed for Sherlock’s experiment, in the vain hope that they wouldn’t be left for long, Sherlock had been somewhat pushed into the far corner.

"Yes, well. Some friends we have.  _Plotting._.. for Christ’s sake we’re not fifteen!” Molly was far beyond exasperated, her hurried movements and flushed features were clear signs of her frustration, she would have been pacing if it weren’t for the lack of room to do so, and she certainly made up for the lack of physical motion with string of muttered expletives.

"If you wouldn’t mind explaining a little. You know how I hate to be behind on such matters. I can only assume there is some emotional connections considering my inability to fully deduce the situation." He looked wounded, and Molly couldn’t help but feel sorry for Sherlock Holmes, so clever and so glaringly dumb.

"It’s a set up, Sherlock. Those two, and God knows who else considering they have the keys, have set us up. Or tried to.”

"Oh." Disappointment coloured his expression. "I was hoping for something a little more complex. So they have shoved us into this small room so that we can ‘talk’?"

"Yes."

"How mundane." He breathed out, now fully aware of where John was heading. John’s assumptions about his feelings for Molly were clear, his hints obvious, and Mary’s involvement abundantly apparent. They were right, of course, but Sherlock didn’t want either to know that.

"Quite." Molly almost spat the word, her disdain for the situation, and the residual hurt from the misconstrued meaning of his words, clear.

Sherlock caught onto the bitter note in her tone, and immediately regretted his words. Loosening his stance and softening his features he tried his upmost to portray happiness at Molly’s presence, even in the predicament.

Actually if he were being honest the seemingly unfortunate situation that had presented itself could be the opportune moment to get a few niggling things of his chest… like the buzzing feeling that radiated his body and gripped his heart, constraining his breathing, as he noticed the soft curve of Molly’s neck and the way her waved hair feel from it’s tie and framed her warm features. It was becoming quite the distraction, and he had been informed (rather begrudgingly on his behalf) by John that telling people of such things, acting upon emotions, could actually rid the constant pleasantly torturous nagging.    

Sherlock was pulled from his thoughts as he noticed a strained huff coming from Molly’s direction, the resignation to her situation clear as she slid down the door, to a heap on the floor, with no conscious mind to the positioning of her arms or legs. 

"Why do our friends feel we need to talk?" Like hell, he was going to bring it up. Neither his forte nor style to bring up emotions and the like. 

"Oh, God." Molly groaned, just because she was more used to this side if humanity, did not mean this was going to be an easy conversation with the stoic man. "You can be so stupid sometimes. I mean it’s obvious, really, plain as the nose on my face, obvious. They want us to talk about  _us_.”

"Us?"

"Yes, us. Our future, the possibility of an  _us_. The changing of our relationship parameters… And I bet they expect to come back and hear us snogging and think their work is done.” She finished in a whisper, although Sherlock could easily hear, for Molly’s sake he chose to ignore it, and the flutter it set in his stomach.

"Well… Ah. Molly. I ummm…"

"Are you okay, Sherlock?" Molly asked, knowing a Sherlock at a loss for words meat something far deeper than if it occurred in one of the masses. 

Choosing to ignore her question, Sherlock tried in vain to gather the words he wished to say. ‘Speak from the heart’ he’d heard people say, but that was idiotic, the heart did not contain the capacity to create verbal function, and if they were insinuating that the heart was the part if the body with the capacity to feel and to hold emotion that was also a nonsensical idea, even if it would explain the current tightness in his chest. ‘Winging it’ was also a foreign concept to the detective but it seemed far preferable to listening to the blood pumping muscle. 

In the process of winging it, he did something that to not only took Molly, but himself, completely off guard. He kissed her, pulling her from the floor with a gentle force and smashing his lips gracelessly against hers. It was rushed and unpracticed but filled with a longing that Sherlock felt incapable of expressing through fruitlessly emotive words.

"I would be open to changing the parameters of our relationship." He spoke against her lips, sealing the statement with a careful, thought out, kiss.

* * *

Molly’s anger had dissipated at the softness of his warm lips against hers, forgetting herself and her previously murderous thoughts of Mary Morstan in favor of far more forgiving and somewhat thankful ones. 

"I suppose this means their plan worked then?" Molly asked, giggling to match the grin on her face, still in such a close proximity to Sherlock.

"A shame, really. That we have to be thankful to the people who locked us in a cupboard."

"A great shame." She kissed the corner of his mouth.

"But lovely, out of the blue kisses aside. We probably need to talk about this. _Us_.” She gestured between them both.

"Must we… When there are still ‘lovely, out of the blue kisses’." His lips found hers again, showing clearly his aptitude as a fast learner, as his precision increased with his passion. 

"I suppose it can wait."

* * *

"God if this hasn’t worked, I don’t think I can cope with the aftermath. That’s weeks of truly moody Sherlock."

"That’s weeks of a truly agitated, aggravated, got-it-in-for-me, angrily upset Molly. I lose."

As John and Mary neared the lab, pushing the swinging doors open the muffled noises that emanated from the storage cupboard spoke literally louder than any words.

"So… it worked then."

"Yep, I think it’s safe to say it worked." A blush was riding up the pairs necks meeting heir flushed cheeks; John placed the key on the floor and kicked it under the door, thankful for the double sided lock, not wanting to imagine the embarrassment of having to unlock the door for himself. 

 

 


End file.
